Every Morning
by sinfinity
Summary: Mustang has some odd habits...but everyone knows the man never does anything without reason.


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_**Notes:** I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist...which still sucks. And I won't lie, this little fic has grown on me. It was also a runner up over at fullservicefma on lj! (:  
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What no one knew about Roy Mustang was that every morning before leaving for Headquarters, he would rearrange the furniture in his apartment.

Regardless of how long it took, he would meticulously shift, angle, and fluff every couch, chair, and end-table. He would dust and shine, vacuum and sweep, and once his masterpiece was complete, he'd flip open his pocketwatch and mumble to himself, "Just in time," then leave for the office.

'Just in time' was, of course, rarely the case, and this ritual was the true reason behind his numerous late entrances that repeatedly earned him a scolding from Hawkeye. But no one knew that. Nor _should_ anyone, Roy figured. What did it matter why he wasn't on time? Each late arrival was accompanied by a fantastic excuse, usually involving a blonde from last night or a special assignment from the higher-ups.

Recliners and armoires were never mentioned.

When he returned home each night, Roy would take off his boots and jacket. He'd pour two glasses of whiskey, pad over to where the large leather couch resided for that day, and sit. If anyone were to ever ask him what he'd think about for those hours, he'd probably reply with a curt, "Nothing." Maybe he'd make a haughty comment about deciding which girl to call, but he'd be bluffing.

There on his nicely fluffed, perfectly positioned couch, he'd sip at his drink and decide if he should rearrange the furniture the next morning. If he could get everything right in a day, he figured, make the right decisions, move forward, finally achieve his atonement, then his day would be complete. Until then, he'd still start each day like it was a brand new life. He'd change his environment, because that was something he could control. He'd go to work and do his best to learn more, fix more, help more. And when he got home, he'd pour a drink for himself and the friend he strived to live for, and he'd assess his progress.

Inevitably he'd realize he hadn't gotten it right just yet. With a sigh, he'd drink down the last of his whiskey and head off to bed, leaving his empty glass next to the full one still waiting for its drinker. In the morning he'd dump that glass and rinse them both, placing each at the front of the cabinet, and then he'd take a shower.

Ritual. Routine. Whatever. It worked for him, and Mustang stuck with what worked.

In one day he almost ruined it for himself. One day he let a certain Lieutenant get to him. One day it was too much, he couldn't take it anymore, and he brought Jean Havoc _home_ with him. And while he did take off his boots and jacket and pour two glasses of whiskey upon entering the apartment, everything beyond that was totally new. The two men padded to bed together in a passionate frenzy, and when Roy put down his empty glass it was next to another empty one on his nightstand.

Most importantly, he didn't have time to think about his furniture that night.

Roy woke in the morning to a strong arm pulling his body to a muscled chest. Breaths that smelled of whiskey and cigarettes flicked by his ear, and it was _comfortable_. Glancing at the time, he forced himself out from under that broad arm, leaving a snoring Havoc to a bed much too small for him. Softly and gently, Roy scooped up the two glasses. In the kitchen sink he rinsed them both, placed them at the front of the cabinet, and trotted quietly off to the shower. He dressed in the bathroom afterwards, only to prevent disturbing Havoc's sleep, then cautiously moved into the living room.

There was the couch, right where he had left it. The ottoman and loveseat. Even the cocktail table was right there. And it was all wrong.

He bunched his sleeves up to his elbows and got to work. It took only about ten minutes for the noise to wake Havoc, quiet as Mustang tried to be, but he didn't notice when the lanky blonde man stood in the doorway from the bedroom, absentmindedly scratching his head and curiously watching his Colonel.

In fact, it wasn't until Jean came to help move the couch that Roy even knew he was there. They stopped, and it was like a standoff, each man leaning down on to an arm of the couch, just waiting for something from their opposition.

"Roy," Jean started skeptically, "what are you doing?"

"I'm moving furniture Jean, what does it look like?" And Roy said it in a way that made it seem that his actions should make perfect sense to anyone. 6am was of course the perfect time for redecorating.

"Well I see that…but why?"

"I don't like it this way." Roy seemed irritated, though Jean was doing his best to seem innocently adorable. "Now I ask that you either help me or please move out of the way."

"I kind of like the couch here though," and with that Havoc promptly plopped onto the leather cushion, still wearing only his uniform pants. "Nice view out the window, Chief."

Mustang glanced outside. The sky was there. A few clouds were there. He could see the tops of trees and buildings and everything was as it should be, while Roy struggled to control everything in here.

"Yea," Roy mumbled. "Yea it's ok."

It comforted him to know that he was fighting for something, but what Roy didn't know was that in his spontaneity the night before, he'd become victorious in a battle he didn't even realize was going on.

He wasn't alone, and as the blonde man reached up and cradled Roy's face in his big hands, it only took a kiss to make Mustang realize that.

Maybe he could leave the furniture, just for today, and see where this arrangement took him. It might just be the life he'd longed for.

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End file.
